Fighting to Survive
by N7ODST
Summary: Not all ODSTs work for ONI. Some are simply fighting to survive. While Noble Team fights The Covenant, Sargent Miller just wants to get out alive, and the only thing stopping him is about ten thousand Covenant troops. Just another day at the office...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: Feet First Into Hell

Spartans always get the credit. We ODSTs do more on one mission than they've done on one mission.

That's what flashed through Sergeant N. Miller's mind as he watched the Phantom land in the city square. The nearby plasma bombardment hit him with a wave of heat, but he pulled through "Squad, prep weapons." he motioned toward the marines next to him. One of them spoke up 'Who made you Dictator-For-Life?" Miller shook his head. "ODST's outrank regulars like you, Marine, end of the goddamn story. Now get ready."

The light dropship's bottom started to fizzle into existence. Two bipedal creatures appeared, knees backwards, with split chins. "What the hell are those?" another of the five marines asked. "Elites, but I'll take care those, you get those." he said, pointing to a shorter, stockier alien. "Begin…NOW!" he screamed, leveling his MA5 over the sandbags they had been hiding behind. The tip of the weapon started to flash, and shell casing fell out of the back. The other marines began to fire as well, a motley group of a M6D, a M90 CAWS, and a M7. The elites shields shimmered bright white before disappearing.

The beings were taking completely by surprise, the stockier grunts falling from the marines continued gunfire. One of the elites fell, body full of bullet wounds, blue blood splashing on the ground. The other began to fire, plasma hitting the sandbags, beginning to melt them. One shot broke through, hitting one of the marines legs, k nocking him down, screaming. Miller looked down, red blood contrasting with his black ODST armor. "SHIT! BREAK FORMATION, CONCENTRATE ON THE BIG ONE!"

He ran over to a palm tree, with tree's leaves melted away from the blast. He checked the LCD screen on his rifle

Ten rounds left.

Pulling out his M90 CAWS shotgun and ran up to the elite. "EAT THIS!" he screamed, pulling the trigger on the weapon.

Boom

Blue blood and pink brain flew out of the dead elite's head, splashing the ground. Two marines ran up to the sergeant, weapons ready. "Sir, Simmons is-"

"Phantom's back!" Miller screamed, running as the two men fell, dead from the many plasma weapons on the dropship, which now focused on Miller. Running over to the man who was hit in the leg (now dead from blood loss) and grabbed the weapon on his back- a Galileian Non-Linear Rifle, or Spartan Laser. Aiming it at the Phantom's cockpit, he fired both missiles in quick succession, killing the pilot. The now-headless enemy fell, screeching along the ground, erupting into flames.

Miller ripped off his helmet, and pulled out a pack cigarettes. Dropping his helmet, he stuck one in his mouth. Lighting it, he looked at the three dead marines, the destroyed dropship, and the dead elites.

It wasn't his job to drop feet first into hell, it was to make sure it's crowded when he gets there.

"Welcome to Reach, enjoy your day." he muttered, walking down the streets of the small town as the forests around him were reduced to ash.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-Feet First

**Six Hours Earlier…**

"Doc, I'm telling you, this is redundant!"

"Sarge, just get the damn shot already."

Miller, dressed in black ODST fatigues sat on the white cot. Meanwhile a man in white doctor's garb stood above him, needle in hand. The sergeant rolled up his sleeves, and turned to the doctor. "Damn it Dufrane, I-"

"ALL TROOPS WE ARE COMING OUT OF SLIPSPACE TO RENDEZVOUS WITH UNSC FLEET AROUND REACH. GET READY FOR COMBAT. CAPTAIN GARDENER OUT."

"You heard the man." Miller said, grinning as he jumped off the cot. "Sarge, you need your-ah what's the point?" Dufrane said as Miller ran out the door.

Miller ran through the drab green halls, bypassing other marines. He rounded the corners, navigating the complex frigate like it was second nature. He stopped at a blast door on a lower deck and put his thumb on a exposed pad. "Genetic Identification Confirmed. Welcome to the armory Sergeant Miller" said the computerized voice.

"Look who decided to show up!" said a ODST, a large African-American individual, cigar in mouth. "Ah, screw you O'Keefe." Miller retorted, looking at the muscular, scarred man. "So, you think this distress beacon is real?" said another man, jumping down from a crate. Sniper in hand, the man's features were obscured by his already-on armor. "I don't know Bishop, but this is Reach we're talking about."

"Yeah, but get in your goddamn armor already." O'Keefe said, motioning to rows of ODST armor, backlights illuminating the darkened room.

Miller walked over, grabbing a rather scarred set, with tally marks adorning the side of the helmet. Putting on the jumpsuit, Miller wiped the grin off his face. "If this is real, this really is once more unto the breach.". Attaching his over armor, he saw a third squad mate look at him incredulously. "Finally, another intellectual SOB." the thin pale man said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Just kill some Covvie assholes and I'll ignore the sarcasm Donahue." Miller snapped on the helmet, heads up display and pressure seal snapping into place.

Walking over to a view screen, Miller saw the vessel exit slip space into…

"ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATION!"

"SHIT, HOW MASSIVE IS THAT GODDAMN FLEET?"

Resounding booms echoed throughout the ship as Miller stared at the screen. "We're picking up about a thousand ships in orbit, only a few UNSC vessels." said Donahue, face even more pale. Miller shook his head as another sergeant shouted something about feet and hell.

Regaining his senses, Miller ran over and grabbed his MA5. "DROP INTO HELL!" he screamed, jumping in his pod. The door shut and the device twisted out, bottom facing the planet below. Another explosion racked the ship as a countdown timer echoed through the pod.

Miller was the veteran of many a jump, and yet the first part always got him. That feeling of your stomach being pushed up into your throat, the intense heat, and the sudden jerk as you chute opened. He could hear the other screaming through the speakers, but one voice stood out. A green private, Miller didn't even know his name, was screaming about pods not launching. Miller looked at the rapidly decreasing distance between him and the ground. He opened a channel, saying "Wave one has launched. Wave two…rest in peace friends."

The pod's chute opened, billowing and-breaking off?

"What the hell?" he screamed, looking at the now speeding up ground.

"OHHH SHI-" he screamed as his pod hit the ground.

Everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So after a long break, here is chapter three. Seeing as this is my first fanfic, thanks for the adulations. **

**Chapter 3-Memories**

Pain.

A black void.

Miller slipped in and out of conscience, in and out of memories. Memories of friends, lovers, death.

Lots of death.

_Thirty-Five years earlier…_

"Mind if I sit here?"

That was the first thing Miller remembered.

" I'm OK with it. How bout you Forge?"

The words slipped out of Miller's mouth. A young mouth, clean and perfect, not one covered in scars and encrusted with dirt, one fresh out of training.

"Sure, what's your name private?"

"Buck, Eddie Buck."

"Well this here is Corperal Miller." Miller raised his hand. Not the hand that had taken to many lives to count, but a new one. "And I'm Sargeant Forge." the muscular man said, pointing to himself. "So, Forge, what ship did you say you were on?" Miller said, swigging his beer, bitter taste scorching his mouth. "Spirit of Fire, you?"

"Iroquois"

"Here's to farewells. Hope to see you two in hell. Or Harvest for that matter." Forge said, chugging his beer. "Yeah." Miller said, copying his elder. Little did he know, that was the last time he would ever see his best friend.

_Present Day…_

Miller's eyes open for a fraction. "Hey, Sarge, you inside there?" a voice asked.

Dufrane. Poor pacifist bastard HAD to be the only one, that was Miller's luck. "Yo, Miiller, Reach was really attacked by bleach-blonde bimbos! We're humanities last hope!"

Miller would have grinned, had he been able to. "Donahue, you sick asshole." Miller muttered, followed by a coughing bout.

"Shit, we're losing him!"

"50 cc's of Ibruproflanine NOW!"

_30 years earlier…"_Corporal, pass me the SPKR, now!" the lieutenant whispered,, pointing to the strange floating tank below the cliff they were on top of. "Aliens, one kilometer." Miller whispered to the rest of the squad, grabbed the weapon from McLaughlin and giving it to the lieutenant. "Attack on my go…now!" The lieutenant said, rockets blazing towards the tank. The DMR in Millers hand jumped as a grunt (as the troops called them) fell, dead. The squad opened fire with their weapons until the strange squad fell, dead. It was over, Harvest won.

But at what cost?

_Present Day…_

Miller's eyes flitted, as he heard gunfire. Glancing at his helmet, discarded on the ground, he slipped back into his memories.

_25 years earlier…_

"I'm join the ODSTs"

"You sure?" Buck said, wide-eyed. Since Harvest, the two had become good frinds, swapping stories while on the ship. Since Forge disappeared…Miller tried not to think about that much. "If I'm gonna die, might as well do it in style." Miller said, a smirk erupting on his face. "You should join to." Miller said. "I want to be friends still. It's one of the few things that keep me sane."

"Sure. I'm gonna die anyway, right?"

Miller took a swig of his rum, swirling it around with his finger.

"Right"

_Present Day…_

He heard Bishop scream something about long range in a building. Miller coughed wretchedly, and glimpsed at a advancing Brute Chieftain, hammer flailing. All he could think about was seeing one for the first time…

_15 years earlier…_

Miller gritted his teeth as the pod fell to the planet he forgot the name of's pockmarked surface. He could see the green rook's frightened face as they fell from orbit. "BISHOP, YOU'RE GONNA BE FINE!" he screamed over the intercom. False hope is still hope. The pod's door crashed open as the impact from hitting the ground set in. He ran out into the battle, seeing fellow ODSTs shoot from behind barricades of iron, smoke constricting view. He fired his MA5, 60 round clip spraying at indistinguishable shapes. One finally advanced…with some kind of hammer…

The collected gunfire of a ODST squadron focused on the thing, even Miller, fear overridden by survival instincts and adrenaline. The man-ape eventually fell, holes in chest in head. Miller sighed and turned to see Bishop, smoking M6C/SOCOM in hand, with another beast crushed by a dead flier.

"Told you you'd be alright."

_Present Day…_

The Chieftain reared it's head. In a moment of adrenaline-fueled instincts, Miller grabbed his pistol. The beast, headdress lopsided, set off toward the concussed man. "Hit me with your best shot douchebag." Miller said, firing a clip into where the plates of the headpiece didn't overlap anymore. The result was bloody, to say the least.

Dufrane ran over the falling body and jammed a needle into Miller's neck.

"Bout time the fire let up long enough to do that!" the doctor said, injecting medicine into the sergeant.

Miller looked up, eyes open.

"Help me up."

Donahue and Bishop held out hands, lifting the now-fine man to his feet. Donahue grinned, handing the Sergeant's beloved assault rifle to it's rightful owner.

"Welcome to New Alexandria"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3-Exodus**

"So where's the rest of the squad?" Miller asked, glancing around a corner, pitch black tunnels of the skyscraper made only slightly better by his VISR. "Dead. Hit by AA on their way down." Bishop said, following with his DMR at the ready. "Damn shame. Hold up!"

A grunt ran past, screaming. Miller motioned to O'Keefe, who nodded. O'Keefe ran up to the grunt, drawing a knife. "Hey, douche!"

The grunt turned a the knife was slammed into it's gut, bright blue blood cascading onto the floor.

Returning to the squad, O'Keefe sheathed his knife, and picking up his shotgun said "Cakewalk."

Miller nodded, and the squad walked on, emerging into a brighter room.

"Freeze!…Miller?"

The team stopped, heeding the Russian ODST's word as he stood there, his sniper ready. Miller walked up to him, gun down.

"Good to see you Chernkov. You got a sitrep?"

"We got wounded civvies, next room over. We got a Spartan clearing the way."

Donahue cut in, angry. "Then we're going up. I'm not letting a Spartan do all the work!"

Miller looked at his squad mate, and replied cooly "For once, I agree with you. Let's get to work. Doc, stay with the wounded." he walked on, reloading his gun.

"But-Ah what's the point?" Doc said, pulling out a medkit.

"So Chernkov, I haven't seen you since Sigma Octanus IV."

"I was sent to Reach after the leg wound, been here until…you know."

The now 5-man team walked onto the rooftop, and saw B312 working his magic in the distance. "Damn." Donahue, said, noting the destruction that lay around. "All right team, jetpacks, now!"

"Always wanted one of these." Cherenkov said, putting on the jetpack. "Your coming?" Miller asked, putting his on. "Can't argue with you logic about the Spartan, and there are still plenty of guys at the base. You want a smoke?" the Russian rebuttled, holding out a pack of cigarettes. "Why not?" Miller said, taking the pack.

"It's go time baby!" Miller heard O'Keefe say, jetpack fumes nearly drowning out his voice. "I'll give this back later." Miller said, pocketing the pack. "Fine by me." Cherenkov said, blasting off himself. Miller followed suit, flying from pedestal to pedestal.

Reaching the end, and after noting a rather lot of brute bodies, the team finishing their extended leaping next to a group of civilians. An armored figure turned, Mark V/B visor staring at them. "I thought I told you to stay with the wounded." came a deep male voice.

"We aren't dumb AI, jackass." Donahue said, pushing past the Spartan. The rest of the team followed, minus Miller.

"Spartan, I noticed you needed assistance in holding the elevator. My squad will hold that side room, you protect the main hall." Miller said, storming off.

"HOLD YOUR GROUND TEAM!" he yelled, getting behind sandbags. "Cherenkov, get on that turret, quick. Bishop, use that sniper from behind the turret. O'Keefe, get at close range. Donahue, on me."

The team assumed their positions, sun glinting off their black armor. "PHANTOM!" Miller yelled, pointing to the incoming dropship. The machine gun rattled as rounds flew out the sides, striking the blue hull, some hitting, while others ricocheted off, hitting the ground. The oddly shaped machine stopped, side opening to reveal even more brutes. Miller ran behind a square advertisement for Moa Burgers, while Donahue mimicked his actions. The brutes fired their strange weapons, and a new one fell out…with a hammer…

"Concentrate on the hammer!" Miller said, opening fire with his MA5B. The sniper bullet to it's head, however, was what killed it. "Nice shot!" Miller said, firing at the brutes.

Suddenly, Cherenkov's voice came over the comms. "Ah Shi-" he tried to say as a spike hit his jetpack's fuel stores, causing him to combust.

"NO!" Miller screamed, emptying his clip into the perpetrator, the last brute left. Seeing the brute fall was not enough to sate his desire for revenge. "AH!" he screamed, throwing his weapon on the ground. "Stand down!" Bishop said, putting his hand on Miller's shoulder. "Damn it!" came the reply.

Miller picked up his gun and walked over to what was left of the Russian. Picking up the man's dogtags, he bowed his head. "Rest in Peace." were his sole words before he walked back to the elevator.

"We're in." said the Spartan, pushing the button for roof. "WAIT!" came the men's reply as the door shut, leaving them behind. "The elevator will come back down when I'm done." came the reply over an open comm. channel.

The next ten minutes were spent in silence as they waited for the elevator, before they finally heard the ding. They walked the rest of the way in silence, as the passed through what could have passed for a Covenant graveyard. Coming up to a helipad, they were greeted by the Spartan

"Troopers, I nee-"

"Oh can it will you? We just lost a man and you just bark orders at us? You're just a computer, issuing out orders. You must have no emotions or some shit, because you're just doing your job, you don't care about humanity!." Miller said. "I was telling you to get out." the reply came, Spartan getting in the gunner's seat of a Falcon. "Get out!"

The squad stood and watched as the falcon flew off into the distance, another one coming for them.

"Belay that, we're going in."

"Now that's the Miller I know." O'Keefe said, patting the Sergeant on the back. "Mount up team!" Miller said, getting on the mounted weapon.

The ride passed rather quickly, Banshees pretty much ignoring the Special Forces vehicle. They passed a transport taking off, and heard over the comms "What the hell are you doing?"

'Doc?"

"Miller, he's taking off without fire support, we can't-AGH!"

The transport's midsection was hit with the brightest of lights, and began to sink to the depths of the ocean. "NOT AGAIN!" Donahue screamed, pulling down his gun. "Time for payback!"

"Ditto" Millers said, nodding.

Finally they got a field with two AA guns, a Warthog clearing the way. Miller pulled down the grenade launcher and fired at a Wraith.

"Need some help superman?" he said on the same open channel.

No answer.

Nonetheless, they still fired, giving the Spartan support until both AA guns were online. The falcon flew off, leaving the site behind.

Miller looked at his HUD, and said "New orders. We're to link up with the ONI building, get some rest until night time. Then we disable a comm. jammer, got it?"

Seeing that everyone understood, Miller pulled off his helmet and took out the cigarettes. "Anyone got a lighter?"

"Here." O'Keefe said, tossing him a small metal one. Miller raised the lighter and cigarette to his lips, taking a puff of the noxious fumes. "Doesn't matter what orders we get-we lost already."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- And Your Heresy Shall Stay Your Feet

**A/N-And after a long break, I'm back with another post. I now have a set vision for where this story and it's inevitable sequel shall be headed. Until then, chapter 5.**

One Half An Hour Later

Svonyek Plain, Reach

Miller gripped his rifle as the Pelican shuddered under the stress of such high speeds. "Listen up." he said, turning to the men who were still alive. "There was a change of plans. We're being relocated to a diferent area of the planet, so listen up." He hit a touch button on a screen situated at the back of Pelican, which promptly displayed a map.

"This is Svonyek Plain-a former agricultural area turned death trap. ONI received a distress signal from a couple spooks who they thought were dead. We need to exfil them."

Donahue raised his hand saying "So? It's probably a damn trap."

"Yeah" O'Keefe said, loading his shotgun. "Our job is to spring it."

"Whadda expect from ONI SOBs, eh?" Bishop said, pushing bullets into a Sniper clip, grinning. "Sneaky as hell."

Miller grinned himself, checking that his gear was secure. "That's their job." He grabbed a mic connecting him to the cockpit. "How long?" he asked, tired

A static filled voice wafted through the "Blood Tray"'

"Uh, rodger that we're all clear. ETA one min-What is tha-Aw Shit" the voice stopped, before screaming out "ECHO TWO THREE, ENEMY ANTI-AIR, WE ARE GOING-AGH!"

The voice stopped as the owner ceased to exist, boiling plasma roasting the cockpit, flaying the pilots alive. The Pelican, without direction, began to start a tailspin.

"WE'RE GOING DOWN-" someone screamed as the g-forces rippled across the teams senses. Miller forced his helmet on, saying into his mic "HANG ON!" Before a resounding crash was heard, the indicated they had made landfall.

White spaces and an impossible loud boom filled Miller's senses, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

A heartbeat. Then another. Miller's eyes fluttered. He blinked his eyes open, dying sunlight crippling them. Pain flooded his senses, threatening to force him back into unconsciousness. From what his still-recovering mind could tell, his lung had collapsed, and his kidneys might be failing. No time to dwell he thought. If the Wraith that fired the shot was still nearby, his goose was already cooked. "Eff this shit" he muttered, and the eyes finally snapped open. He was in some place dark. He reached his arm up, realizing it wasn't dark. He was being slowly crushed by rubble. He pushed his arm up, knocking debris aside, light once again flooding his eyes. He struggled, pain wracking the very fiber of his being, but managed to stand up.

"Bloody Hell." he said, seeing the wreckage of the Pelican. He looked at the rubble, trying to spot bodies.

No such luck.

The Pelican had crashed into what used to be a parking garage, now a ruin, just like most of the planet. He looked at the flaming wreckage one last time, in a vain attempt to find his comrade bodies before setting off unsuccessful.

He put his gloved hand on the radio transponder on the side of his helmet, desperate. "Command, or anyone still alive, the situation at Svonyek is FUBAR, I repeat FUBAR. Don't bother sending an evac, I think I'm the only one left."

"Sorry to cut off your rant, but your squad in still kicking, their one klick south, along with the VIPs. Marking on your HUD now. Command out." The crackling radio said, causing Miller to stop. So his team was alive. Impressive. He wondered how long they could last, however, without a commanding officer. Miller walked down the ramp of the garage, trying to use a first aid kit he had managed to find. He looked up, seeing a gratifyingly placed vehicle, the sight of it bringing a smile to Miller's face. Maybe they'd live after all he thought, firing up the Rocket Warthog's engines.

One Kilometer South…

"COMMAND, SITUATION IS FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION!" Donahue screamed into the radio, flooding the teams ears with noise.

"Seriously? STFU!" O'Keefe yelled, firing off another shotgun shell.

Bishop reloaded his Designated Marksman Rifle, fifteen round clip slamming into place with a reassuring click. The situating was less than reassuring Wraith had closed in, going in for the kill. With no sign of Miller, Bishop had taken control, guiding the squad to the objective.

Which was now cowering next to him, screaming.

"Shut up man, I thought you were a ONI spook!"

"I'm a desk jockey, not a combat unit!" The operative said, gripping the M9D in his hand hard enough to turn his fingers white.

"WRAITH IS BACK!" Donahue yelled, firing MA5 ammo down range, not even bothering to aim.

The short, stocky grunts had been easy to take care of (if not ammo consuming), but now Jackals were coming at them in numbers usually reserved for Grunt assaults. Then the Anti-Air Wraith decided on making life miserable.

Bishop fired a round over the barricade, .50 Caliber Round crushing a Jackal's skull.

"O'Keefe, get a rocket on that Mother!"

"Out of 'em"

Bishop swore under his breath, and turned on his radio. "Command, we need backup now!"

"Ask Miller" the person on the other line said, rockets blazing out of nowhere, striking the Wraith. The impossible strong nano-fibers buckled under the pressure of the explosion, but six rockets was enough to cause it to break, explosive mixing with plasma for volatile results.

Miller fired another volley of rockets, now aimed at the infantry. The HEAT rockets ripped apart the Jackal and Grunt's flesh, killing them.

Miller jumped from the gunner's seat limping over to the squad. "You got the spook?"

"Right here." Donahue said, lifting up the ONI operative.

"Good. Now lets-"

"BANSHEES, ON OUR SIX! HIT THE DECK!"

Miller grimaced as a fuel rod shot hit the ground nearby him, and he slipped once again into unconsciousness.


End file.
